


In Wolf's Clothing

by lilmakilla97



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Blood and Gore, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Original Character(s), Porn With Plot, Romance, The Witcher - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilmakilla97/pseuds/lilmakilla97
Summary: Everly "Eve" Suttone, a nomadic monster-slayer, travels The Continent in search of whatever work she can find- under the guise of being a mutant herself. This facade is undiscovered for years, until she ends up taking the same contract as the infamous White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, who is not so easily fooled.
Relationships: Geralt of Rivia/Eve Suttone, Geralt of Rivia/Everly "Eve" Suttone, Geralt of Rivia/Original Character, Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character, Geralt of rivia/OC, Geralt/Original Character, Geralt/Original Female Character, Geralt/oc
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	1. The Butchering of a Bruxa

**Author's Note:**

> (PLEASE NOTE: Using storylines/lore from the show, the books, AND the Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, so if it's not exactly canon to the Netflix series, that would be why)

"Do this, and the three hundred and fifty crowns are yours."

Eve's stony, grey eyes squinted with skepticism. She had already gauged his status upon first sight, as the expensive linens that he wore were a dead giveaway of his wealth. His offer was _insultingly_ low for a job of this magnitude.

"Six hundred, and you'll pay half upfront."

The man scoffed, glancing over at his brother with amusement, who chuckled along with him. When his eyes returned to hers, he dropped the condescending smile, though his expression still remained arrogant in nature. "Four hundred, and nothing upfront."

She blinked slowly and tilted her head ever-so-slightly to the side. "Six fifty and four hundred upfront, **_or_** I can inform the guards of your plan to assassinate your own brother."

The arrogance fell from his face faster than the coin from his pocket as he agreed to her terms with a hasty annoyance.

"Thank you," Eve flashed a condescending smile, and watched as they turned to leave without another word–aside from curses under their breath.

Once the brothers were out of sight, she returned to her stallion and stuffed the coin purse into his saddle bag. "Let's go, Maze," she said, half-grunting as she climbed onto the large, Friesian horse. Maze nickered in response, taking a hesitant step before he gradually began to canter in the direction that the reigns guided him.

* * *

The abandoned estate was not far east of Rinde, right around three miles out as the brothers had correctly instructed. Maze's canter had slowed to a trot, then to a walk, until finally he came to an abrupt halt, snorting in fearful defiance.

 _"Fine,"_ Eve growled and threw her left leg over the animal's neck, dropping to the ground below with a thud. Her eyes remained on the unsettling manor as she quickly removed her silver sword from a saddle strap and fastened the baldric across her torso.

Sword now sheathed at her hip, she gave a parting pat to Maze's shoulder before warily entering the grounds of the estate. It was deafeningly quiet, aside from the occasional chirr-up of a sparrow or gust of wind that rattled the overgrown greenery around her. Grass that would normally be trimmed short was up to her shins, and vines had begun to creep their way up the side of the manor. Nature had reclaimed this place.

The unnatural infested it. Taking a step into the open doorframe, Eve began to wonder when the Bruxa would show its face– as the silence was building an anxious tension within her chest. Prompted by paranoia alone, she drew her sword from it's scabbard, a dull metal ringing sound echoing gently down the main hall.

 _ **"Brave...?"**_ The voice of an unidentified woman, was so loud and clear that it was as if it were spoken from inside her own skull. Quickly, she whirled around and immediately met eyes with the owner of the voice.

 _ **"...Or stupid?"**_ The creature's head tilted inquisitively, but its lips did not move– a bruxa's mouth was for tearing into flesh, not for talking.

"You may want to ask yourself that question," Eve began, clutching tighter to the hilt of her sword as she took a small step forward. The creature didn't move, but its expression changed to one of amused curiosity. "You nested in the home of one of Rinde's wealthiest families. Should I fail, they have the means to hire endless mercenaries after me to finish you off. Your fate will be one of two things– death or endless torment–"

 _ **"–Endless entertainment."**_ The Bruxa corrected her, mouth stretching into a closed-lip smile.

"Come closer and tell me how entertaining the touch of this silver is." she swayed the sword once in front of her, watching as the creature twitched at its movement.

 _ **"You bear that medallion– yet lack the mutations..."**_ the Bruxa changed the subject, anthracite eyes peering down at the lead medallion that hung against her sternum. Eve swallowed.

 _ **"You have fooled the other humans, but you cannot fool me."**_ The vampire smiled again, this time with teeth– no. Fangs. A mouth full of only long, sharp canines. Incisors and molars were useless to creatures such as these.

_**"You are prey."** _

The vampire, in all of its speed, lunged forward with pale claws outstretched to slash. Eve was quick to react, as she had been anticipating this first attack. She parried with her sword and simultaneously side-stepped to evade the creature, slicing its forearm in the process. The silver seared its dead flesh with a sound similar to a frying egg.

The monster screeched with a ferocity that took her breath away, its vibrations creating tremendous pressure within her skull. Eve doubled over onto one knee, dropping her sword with a clang to clutch her hands over her ears. Her vision would have been black, even if she weren't squinting her eyes shut.

 _"Zakira!"_ Another voice, this time belonging to a human man. He was positioned down at the end of the main hall, so skinny and frail that his clothes seemed too big for him. Without a doubt, this was the brother. The one who the vampire, apparently named Zakira, had trapped under its spell. The one she had been hired to kill along with the vampire.

Both Eve and Zakira's eyes shot up to the human, the screeching coming to an immediate halt. Zakira flew down the hall towards him, and knocked him against the wall as she latched onto his throat to feed.

Action was necessary for survival, as the monster's power would grow substantially after feeding. Quickly, Eve grabbed her sword and rose to her feet, then began sprinting down the hall towards them. She reared back with sword in hand and threw the blade, a metallic ringing whistling through the air on its way to the target. It pierced entirely through the vampire's abdomen and into her human's shoulder. A non-lethal blow to both of them.

_Fuck._

They both howled in pain. Zakira's scream sent Eve flying backwards right as she was running down the hall to retrieve her sword. As she fell, the back of her skull came down hard against the concrete flooring, and caused her vision to blacken for a few seconds. When her sight returned, the vampire was on top of her, jaw unhinged and face plunging towards her throat. She threw her hands up to defend herself, but before she felt a single touch, a sound of muted energy vibrated the air above her and the vampire was sent flying backwards.

Eve quickly rolled onto all-fours, looking up to see the silhouette of a stranger returning his palm from an outstretched position. He had cast Quen, a sign of force which she hadn't seen since her time at the School of the Cat.

This was a Witcher– not a human disguised as one.

 _"Run. Now!"_ the stranger demanded in a growl, voice deep and gravely.

She watched him stride past her, his sword drawn, headed for the creature that was scrambling to get to its feet. She quickly regained her footing, but instead of running away like he insisted, she ran towards them, dodging around the broad Witcher and lunging over the monster to retrieve her sword. It lay on the ground next to the vampire's human slave, who was clutching at his bleeding shoulder with gnashed teeth.

Her defiant actions must have distracted him for a split second– but no matter how brief, it was still enough time for the vampire to attack first. It slashed at his arm with razor-sharp claws and knocked the sword from his hand. He was quick to try and make the Quen sign again, but the monster was quicker, lunging at him and knocking him to the floor.

He was in the same position that she was in just before his intervention when Eve plunged her blade through the center of the vampire's back– this time, a fatal blow– and then yanked her sword aggressively from its flesh. The monster expelled its stomach contents almost immediately, vomiting blood directly onto the Witcher's face and neck. As the human behind them grieved loudly for his now deceased _'lover',_ the stranger shoved the carcass away from him and it fell limp to the floor at his side.

With a half-huff, half-growl, he climbed to his feet. Eve took a single step back to make room. He pursed his lips and glared at her, a show of his anger, but it was tough to gauge his full expression considering his entire face was coated with Bruxa blood.

She could, however, make out the features of his face, as well as the signature white hair– and quickly realized that he was not a stranger. He was Geralt of Rivia. During a brief moment of silence between them, memories of their meeting flashed through her mind. 

_She was fourteen or fifteen then, having stayed with Edric at Stygga Castle  
for only a few years at that point. It was an early morning, the first day of the  
Annual Witcher Tourney. It was bitterly cold up in the mountains, but having  
to help the young soon-to-be Witcher boys warm up with sword play helped  
ease the sting of the harsh weather. Edric had called her over to meet an old  
friend of his– a man named Vesemir who had travelled all the way from Kaer  
Morhan to witness the tournament– and with him, a companion, Geralt of Rivia. _

There was no more than brief introductions spoken between them, but his white hair was a trait that was not easily forgotten. She was always amazed by the concept of Witchers having elongated lifespans, but seeing the proof of said concept was even more impressive. He looked like he had aged no more than a year, while Eve had drastically changed in the 10 years since then– she was 25 now.

But none of this mattered now. There was no way he would recognize her– and judging by his expression, he _definitely_ didn't.

During that same brief moment of silence, his eyes had dropped to the medallion that hung between her breasts. His sculpted supraorbital ridge became even more prominent when he furrowed his brows. He parted his lips to say something, likely to ask about where she got the Witcher medallion from, or why she was wearing it in the first place. However, she didn't give him the chance to ask. Instead, she quickly turned and strode towards the man at the end of the hall.

_"Hey–"_

She could hear his sword scrape the floor as he bent over to pick it up, but wasn't aware that he was following her down the hall. She reached the end of the hallway and stood over the man with her sword still drawn.

_"We want his head– proof that you finished the job."_

The words of the men that hired her echoed through her mind as she gripped the hilt of her sword tighter than before. She didn't particularly enjoy killing those that didn't deserve it– but with the right amount of coin, she would ignore the guilt. She lifted the sword for the final blow.

The man released a guttural scream and raised his hands up in submission, but it wasn't his hand that stopped her– it was Geralt's. He clamped his large hand down around her wrist and aggressively turned her back against the wall, slamming her hand against the stone as he did. She hissed in pain as the sword fell from her grasp and clattered obnoxiously against the floor.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?!" He growled, commanding an answer. His grip on her was tight enough that if he wanted to, a simple motion could snap the bones of her forearm in half. The pain immediately triggered her fiery temper.

Geralt glanced down at the man, who had scurried to his feet and took off towards the exit. Eve saw the distraction as a closing window of opportunity. With her free hand, she sent a rapid punch to the center of the white hair's face, connecting with the side of his nose and his inner cheek. The nose being a sensitive area, he was immediately forced to let go and press his fingers against where she'd just struck him for some sort of relief, catching himself with his palm against the wall with the other hand.

Eve quickly evaded him, scooped up her sword, and sprinted out the front door after her target. The starved and injured man was no match for her on foot. She was closing in on him, only a few steps behind, when an unseen force sent her flying diagonally into one of the stone posts at the front gates. The breath was knocked from her lungs, made known by the odd gasping noise she made when she hit the ground and rolled onto her back.

Geralt, the culprit, stepped forward until he was towering over her, and kicked away her sword with his foot. It took her a few moments to catch her breath, but once she did, her target was long gone.

She tried to roll onto her right side, but an _aggressive_ pain shot through her shoulder and down her spine. She winced aloud, and again rolled onto her back. Her eyes snapped open and shot daggers at Geralt, who was still towering over her, being utterly unhelpful.

"I think you dislocated my _fucking_ shoulder!" she growled at him, though the end of her statement turned into a raspy yelp, thanks to the pain caused by her trying to aggressively sit up. 

"A fair trade considering I should have killed you instead." he pointed out, his words laced with anger.

Eve rolled onto her left side this time, awkwardly managing to get onto all fours, then just her knees, and then to her feet. She clutched onto her arm, squinting her eyes as she tried to straighten out her posture. "I just saved your _life,_ you ungrateful shit." she hissed, her eyes watering from the pain, not from the anger.

" _After_ I saved yours." He took a step forward and grabbed the medallion from her chest, lifting it to get a closer look. His first assumption had been that it was fake– but judging by the weight of it, the metal it was made of was real. "So, what? You wear this, pretend to be a Witcher, and con people out of their money?" His expression was one of disgust.

Despite the pain, she used the hand of her uninjured arm to snatch the medallion back from him. "I'm conning no one. I did the job, didn't I?" she glanced to where the human had disappeared through the woods. "Well, a portion of it."

"Witchers kill monsters, not humans. Perhaps think of that before your next ruse, and it might be more believable." He rolled his eyes and turned to walk away– all casually and smug-like, too. It only fueled her fire.

She laughed, though it was one of anger and disbelief and not actual amusement. "Ha! Geralt of Rivia, _Butcher of Blaviken,_ lectures _me_ on morals. Not only that, but then proceeds to leave me here without setting the shoulder that _he_ dislocated. How _righteous of you,_ Witcher!"

Geralt didn't stop walking, despite her taunting. He new that she wanted a reaction from him, and therefore could not give her the satisfaction. He climbed onto his horse, and pulled on the reigns to turn the mare back towards Rinde. Before he took off, he made sure to turn his head towards her and part with an arrogant smile and one final, rhetorical question:

"I help _humans,_ not _monsters–_ remember?"


	2. Bold of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve runs into Geralt again, or vice versa, when she returns to Rinde to tell of the contracts completion. Jaskier introduces himself, and the trio partake in a long night full of ale, bread, and repartee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Jaskier is my MANS, so I had to include him [and he will be resurfacing a lot throughout the coming chapters], so I'm sorry if ur crazy and don't love him as much as I do!!!)

"I help _humans,_ not _monsters_ – remember?"

If looks could kill, Geralt would have a thousand daggers in his back. Eve didn't take her cold eyes off of him, until he disappeared completely through the wood. Once he was gone, her attention was drawn to the continuous pain in her shoulder. 

She had dislocated her shoulder once before, after falling off of a horse at Stygga castle. Vaguely, she recalled how Edric was able to set the ball back into its socket, and she used this hazy memory to guide her next move– minus the scolding for being so careless. She shuffled over to Maze, then squatted slightly, loosening the billet strap of his saddle enough so that she could slide her hand underneath it. Quickly, she tightened the strap again, her wrist trapped tightly against Maze's ribcage. A deep breath. An aggressive yank. The bone cracked loudly as it snapped back into socket. 

" _Son of a whore!"_ she wailed breathlessly, leaning against Maze for support before removing her hand from beneath the strap. He huffed and pushed back against her weight. 

"I wasn't talking to _you_." she rolled her eyes and gave Maze a gentle smack to his thigh. He huffed again, but this time she paid no mind to it– her attentions elsewhere as she began searching the premises for her sword. It wasn't far from where she had landed, a dip in the tall grass indicating its location. 

She cursed under her breath as she bent to pick it up, temper not yet subdued from the outcome of this whole situation. She had the 400 crown, yes, but her mind was set on the 650– and it would have easily been hers if it weren't for the self-righteous Witcher. 

She didn't know much about him, aside from their brief meeting a decade ago and what rumors she had heard about Blaviken. He'd slaughtered a handful of humans in the middle of the market, and within those rumors there was never a reason _why._ She knew things were never that clean-cut, that there was always a reason, a motive, for one's cruel actions... 

She quickly stopped herself from this way of thinking. Why excuse the Witcher of his crimes when he had no consideration of what drove her to do the same? If she was a monster, wasn't he? 

Eve wanted to terminate thoughts of Geralt from her mind altogether– but couldn't stop herself from playing out her next words to him should she run into him again. Her stubborn mind couldn't sit back and allow him the satisfaction of having the last word. 

"Move, Maze." she instructed, pulling the reigns to the side and leading the horse back to the main road towards Rinde.

***

" _Gods_ , you've gotten petulant in your old age," Eve hitched an irritable Maze to a post outside of the tavern– who stomped at the ground in protest. He turned 11 this past autumn, which made him _more_ than ready for retirement. Friesian horses only lived to be around 16 years. Selfishly, though, the thought of giving him up tugged at a wounded place in her heart that she was not ready to address. Maze had been around since her time at Stygga, he was a totem from a time she would not be able to get back.

There seemed to be a decent amount of folk in the inn– the sun was setting and therefore it was socially acceptable to start drinking. She wasn't there for a lukewarm ale, but at that very moment, it sounded appealing. 

She received odd looks from many of the patrons, but it was no more than usual. In a wealthy city like this, it was unusual to see a woman traveling alone and dressed in any kind of armor. The prodding eyes were easy to ignore at this point. 

Eve ordered a pint of ale and pushed her way through the crowd to an empty table in the back corner of the building, quietly sipping on it as she waited for those familiar faces to reappear. 

"There you are!" her eyes cut upwards towards the voice, landing on the man who had hired her– and as she suspected, his brother tagging along with him. He slid into the booth across from her, while his brother remained standing at the edge of the table. 

"Here I am," she responded, dryly at that. 

There was a moment of silence as the man raised his eyebrows, implying that he was waiting on something. "Well? You're alive, which means you've succeeded! Don't keep us waiting any longer, we want to hear all about your quest!" 

She could tell that he was excited, clearly in a much better mood than she had last seen him in. It wouldn't last for long. 

"The details are unimportant. Your pest has been eliminated," she stated simply, taking another sip. 

The man smiled, glancing over his shoulder before leaning in slightly. "And what of the vampire?" His eyes were filled with wickedness, he believed he was clever. 

Eve narrowed her eyes at him, setting the metal mug down on the log table. She knew what he was insinuating– that his human brother was the pest– but she ignored it. "I just told you."

His chipper attitude faded slightly. "Fine, then tell me of my _'brother'."_ He said the word as if it were a bad taste in his mouth. 

"Your _brother_ escaped while I was dealing with the Bruxa. I have no doubt that he will not be returning," She glanced out the tavern window, seeing Maze idly chewing on something. "I'm sure he's figured out by now that his own family was trying to have him killed. Message, delivered."

There was a silence, and as Eve returned her gaze to the man, she could tell that he was not pleased. She noticed the way his knuckles whitened as he clenched his fist that sat on top of the table. He gave no response, so she started again:

"I understand our deal was that you'd pay the rest of the 600 once I returned. Since I was unable to finish him off, I'd say it's fair if I keep the 400 and call it a day." her shoulders bounced in a light shrug, and she finished off the rest of her mug. 

He scoffed, as if taken aback. His cheeks were flushed now, the anger was _very_ visible. "You'll return my coin in _full."_ his growl was low, a warning. She raised her brow, unmoved by his supposed 'intimidating' response. 

A laugh came from her, which may have not been the best move, considering they were armed and she was not. However, that didn't stop her from her next words. "Fuck off."

It was obvious he was not used to women doing anything other than licking his boots, so her defiance had him seeing red. In the corner of her eye, she could see his brother's hand move to rest on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Whatever trouble they would get in for murdering her right in this booth could easily be eradicated with just a bag full of coin. 

"I'd suggest doing what you're told while you still have your _balls_ ," a voice interjected. Eve's eyes flickered upwards to see Geralt now standing just behind the brother, towering over him by nearly a foot. He didn't meet her gaze, instead his piercing yellow eyes remained latched onto the side of the brother's face. Now _that_ was intimidating.

There was a pause in any movement or conversation for a long moment, until the man that sat across from Eve decided to raise his hands in submission. "Hey now, friend, no need to get handsy. We were already on our way out," the 'friendly' smile that he offered was a forced one, and the nervous laugh was likely to disguise his breathlessness. 

"Hmm." Geralt also forced a smile as he growled lowly, keeping his narrowed eyes on them as they made their way to the exit. They turned back once, only to see if they were being followed. 

Eve's focus immediately returned to Geralt as soon as they were gone, an eyebrow raised. Mockingly, she repeated his last words to her, _"I thought you helped humans–not monsters?"_

He returned her gaze, yellow hues glowing and annoyed amusement written on his features. "Fortunately for you," he placed his large palm flat against the tabletop as he moved to sit across from her, "They are far more monstrous than you are."

She gave a weak impression of astonishment, placing her hand flat against her heart. " _Goodness_ , I'm blushing." Sarcasm.

The tension between them was suddenly broken, by an obnoxiously chipper voice and an invasion of personal space. A tall man with a baby face slid his way into her booth, carrying four mugs of ale, speaking to them as if he hadn't just rudely interrupted. 

" _Whew!"_ he sighed, exasperated. "You had me a bit worried there, Geralt. Thought I may be witnessing a second Blaviken." The stranger set the tankards down on the table– clumsily at that. He pressed on, "It's been difficult enough trying to paint you as a hero and not a criminal who kills humans for sport with that stain on your reputation." His smile was large, and he stared at Geralt with wide, shimmering eyes as if he were hopeful of a response. Geralt, gave none, only a deadpan expression. 

The stranger turned his attention towards Eve, jumping as if he hadn't known that she was sitting there across from him. He placed his arm along the backside of the seat, not touching her but it was close enough to make her uncomfortable. " _Gods,_ Geralt, you didn't tell me how enchanting our little swindler was. I see now why you didn't kill her–"

 _"–Jaskier,"_ Geralt's warning was much more stern than he gave to the brothers, but the stranger didn't seem to even be bothered. It was clear they knew each other well. Jaskier only gave Geralt a brief glance before he aimed his sights back at her.

"Well, I was building up to an introduction before Geralt so _rudely interrupted_ , but–" Eve smirked slightly, amused by the hypocrisy in that statement. "Yes, I am Jaskier. Musical companion of the great White Wolf! We've travelled together for months now, slaying beasts and gaining a notoriety that he only has _me_ to thank for."

Eve tore her eyes away from the amusing man, casting her gaze on the white-haired mutant across from her. "You two make a _lovely_ couple," her lips stretched into a wide smile. Geralt only rolled his eyes and pulled one of the flagons to his side of the table, aggressively bringing it to his lips and chugging nearly half of it. She got the sense that for Geralt, time spent with Jaskier was usually also spent with alcohol.

Jaskier furrowed his brow, chuckling awkwardly, the joke going straight over his head. "Uhm–No, no, no, Geralt is far too course for my taste. I prefer women, preferably about _this_ tall," he held his hand near the top of her head, "brown hair, blue– no, grey eyes. Delicate and beautiful like a–" 

Jaskier had bent in closer, and Eve turned her head to Geralt _again,_ in utter disbelief of the audacity this man had. Without thought, she shoved her left elbow aggressively into his side. Jaskier doubled over with a pained grunt, removing his arm from behind her and clutching his gut. "–... _flower..."_ he wheezed, " _... poisonous flower... with thorns..._ "

Geralt was grinning now, teeth showing and all. Eve took casual notice of how handsome he appeared with a smile. "You may want to reevaluate your meaning of the word ' _delicate',"_ his voice held a hint of playfulness, a far jump from his normal, ornery tone

"I think _someone_ needs to reevaluate what it means to be _ladylike,_ " Jaskier, ballsy as ever, glanced over at her and flinched– thinking she was going to hit him again. She didn't, but his fear of her was amusing enough to make her chuckle. 

"I forget that for you men, it's considered _gentlemanly_ to invade a woman's personal space without consent," she responded pointedly. 

Jaskier clicked his tongue, readjusting and pushing a mug of ale towards her. "Fair enough. Peace offering?"

"Truce," she nodded, still amused as she accepted his offering and brought the mug to her lips. In fact, they all did– taking a swig simultaneously. 

There was a brief silence, but Jaskier clearly found the awkwardness to be too unpleasant, as he immediately filled the air with more conversation. "So, are you going to grace us with your own introduction?"

"Eve," she answered plainly. She felt Geralt's eyes on her.

"That's it?" Jaskier prodded, raising a brow and taking another sip.

She responded with an expression of irritation. If it wasn't dramatized, it wasn't good enough for him. "Well, if you _must_ know everything, my full name is Everly Suttone of Eiddon. But you _will_ call me Eve."

Geralt shifted in his seat and garnered the attention of both parties. His brows were furrowed, as if he were trying to think of something. "I know you." His gaze fell down towards his mug in contemplation.

Eve raised a brow, waiting to see if he could give an exact account of how he'd heard the name before. She would be impressed, considering when they first met, she was a foot shorter, with a boy's haircut and not even slightly developed. 

Jaskier stirred impatiently, it was clear it was taking everything for him to be able to keep his mouth shut and not outright ask. 

Geralt lifted his head and met her eyes again, confidence in them now. "Stygga Castle."

A pleased smile from Eve. 

"You're Edric Suttone's daughter."

It wasn't _technically_ true, but to Geralt and everyone else she'd ever met, it was. Edric only raised her for the latter half of her childhood, unofficially adopting her when he found her alone in the harsh mountain range at the southern border of Ebbing. But these things were irrelevant.

"Well done," Eve nodded and took another swig, peering at him above the rim of the tankard as she drank. A swallow, a sigh. "I assume it was the name that gave me away, not my face?"

"Well, truthfully, I thought Edric had a son," Geralt admitted, wetting his tongue with ale again.

Jaskier snorted, obnoxiously trying to act as though he wanted to conceal his laughter. He glanced at Eve, waiting to see if she would strike Geralt in return. 

She simply rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Fair enough. He was shite at cutting hair."

Geralt gave a soft laugh, glancing down at his mug again, then back up to her. "I meant because you handled a sword better than any of the boys in the tourney," he shrugged, a mischievous smile on lips, "But that, too." He finished off his ale and took it upon himself to take the only extra mug. 

Eve smiled back at him, and if she were capable of feelings aside from anger at this point, she might have just blushed. A compliment on her swordsmanship was far more appreciated than that of her looks. 

"Well, that explains the elbow," Jaskier chimed in, laughing breathlessly.

"No, you're just a pussy." Geralt deadpanned without missing a beat.

"You know, Geralt I'd like to see you strum a lute and carry a tune at the same time– I think you'd be surprised at how much more skill that takes than it does to sling around a hunk of metal like a brute." Jaskier shot back at him, the pair were clearly used to the back-and-forth. 

Like two brothers, they bickered for hours, with short spans of conversation between Geralt and Eve in between. She told of what it was like to grow up around multiple generations of Witchers without ever being one herself. He told the story of what _really_ happened in Blaviken. They both shared in their experiences defeating similar monsters– Geralt shared of those she'd not yet encountered. The night carried on, Jaskier providing the table with constant flow of ale along the way. 

Fewer and fewer patrons were left in the Inn– the Innkeeper finally closed the bar, but allowed them to stay at the table since Geralt and Jaskier had paid for rooms. Not to mention, he was a bit scared to tell the Witcher and his entourage to leave the common area. 

Eventually, Jaskier grew tired from being filled up on ale and bread, and yawned loudly to let everyone know. "Alright you two, I'm going to scurry off to bed now, I'll need my beauty rest. Big day tomorrow. Geralt, well– I don't think you could sleep for a _decade_ to recover from that ugly mug of yours."

Eve chuckled, watching as Jaskier shuffled clumsily towards his room. Geralt simply shook his head in disproval. "Big day, hm?" She swirled the last bit of ale around in the bottom of her mug. Her cheeks were flushed, limbs tingling from the alcohol consumption. She wasn't as drunk as Jaskier, though, who didn't pace himself as well.

Geralt nodded, swallowing his last sip of ale. "Jaskier's dragging me to Cintra."

She raised her brows, "That's quite a trek." 

"Hmm," he mumbled in agreement, "If I'm lucky we will get there in a month."

"You're _lucky_ if Jaskier doesn't talk you to death before you even leave Redania," Eve half-expected Jaskier to pipe up and defend himself through the door, but he must have been out cold. 

There is a pause as their connected gaze remains steady. "If you joined us, the torment could be divided equally," he suggested with a new tone– different from the way he'd been talking to her when Jaskier was present.

Eve's head tilted slightly to the side, wondering if he was flirting, or if it was the alcohol clouding her judgment. She hadn't much experience with the subject, as men weren't drawn to her in the ways they were drawn to other women. Her attire was masculine, her disposition the same. The most feminine thing about her was under her clothes. But the way he was looking at her, as if his eyes were hungry and she were a four-course meal– it told of his impure intentions. 

"This often works for you, doesn't it?" she responded, resting her chin on her hand, elbow to tabletop. He raised a brow, curious as to what she meant. "The flirting, the promise of adventure, then you bed the poor girl and leave before she wakes?"

"Bold of you to think I meant anything other than adventure," he shot back, amused by her fairly accurate assumption. 

Eve scoffed, then pushed herself to stand, side-stepping out from behind the booth. She was uncomfortable trying to sit still while he was looking at her like that, anyways.

"Bold of _you_ to think I'd take offense to you not finding me attractive," She gave an unbothered shrug, and turned to walk away from the booth. Almost immediately, she was whipped back around by the pull of his warm grip around her forearm. The speed of said turn made a lock of hair fall into her face and stick to her ale-saturated lips. She didn't brush it away or react, frozen solid with tension as her eyes cast downward into his.

 _"Bold of you to assume I don't,"_ the way that the words left his mouth made her stomach churn. She wondered if his mutant abilities gave him the insight to hear how furiously her heart was beating in her chest. He gave a little tug on her arm, indicating that he wanted her to come closer. 

She exhaled slowly, not wanting to sound as breathless as she felt, and complied, taking a step towards him. A corner of his mouth lifted faintly in a smirk, his eyes fell to her lips. He tugged again. Another compliance, another half-step. 

Cautiously, she leaned her head down towards him, and Geralt, in response, used his free hand to gently brush the strands of hair away from her mouth. She was shocked at his ability to be so gentle when his whole existence seemed to be course and violent. When the hair was tucked away behind her ear, his hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her to close the gap between their faces. She landed with one knee propping herself up on the log bench, right between his thighs, while the other leg stood fully pressed against his outer leg. Both of her hands landed palms down, flat against his chest. 

The landing of her right hand sent a small, dull pain through her shoulder, and reminded her of only hours ago when her arm hung loose and dislocated– his doing. Interesting, how the tables had turned. 

The hand that had pulled her by the arm moved to the thigh that landed between his legs, his palm gliding slowly up the back of her. Playing into it, Eve parted her lips and closed the gap completely. Their mouths grazed and Geralt pushed forward to deepen the kiss, but she suddenly grabbed his wrist to halt his groping, and tilted her head back to avoid his mouth. He waited, not letting go of her as he figured she were merely going to suggest moving somewhere more private. 

She tilted her head back down towards him, and muttered the words practically onto his lips: 

"Bold of you to assume the feeling is mutual."

His eyes darkened slightly in response, knowing that she was full of shit. He figured she was only teasing, and it was a fair assumption, considering she had slid her fingers into the collar of his shirt to feel the warm skin beneath it. In turn, she felt the pads of his fingers dig hungrily into the back of her thigh, right below her ass.

 _"–Bold of you **both** to assume I can't hear **everything** from in here," _Jaskier's voice made both of them jump– Eve nearly stumbled as she took a step back, and Geralt released her immediately. The bard stood there, hands on his hips, with accusatory looks directed at both of them. 

Geralt awkwardly cleared his throat, while eve scratched at her scalp– neither one of them had looked each other in the eye. 

"I best be going," Eve spoke up, finally.

"I'm tired," Geralt said almost simultaneously. 

As the two parted ways, Eve heading for the exit, and Geralt heading towards his room, Jaskier spoke up again, "Oh come now, don't let me ruin such a lovely moment, I promise I won't eavesdrop if you two want to finish this in your room." He held his hand out as an offer, but both of them just sighed in disgust at him and dispersed fully. Both doors shut with a thud.

An orchestra of chirping crickets echoed through the once-bustling, now-silent city streets. Funny how she hadn't heard them at all from inside– her senses were _that_ distracted. She felt the tension leave her as she released a long breath that she'd been holding in, then began walking towards Maze, who nickered at her approach. As she unhitched the horse, she glanced back through the window, seeing Geralt's door. The thought of sneaking back in occurred to her, but the idea was fleeting, and left as quickly as it came. She boarded her horse, and turned towards the city's exit without another glance behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (how many times will Jaskier become a cock block in the future? the world may never know)


	3. Winterfylleth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve faces the hardships that come with winter, but as always, she finds a way to survive. Simply surviving, though, isn't all that pleasant. When a money-making opportunity emerges that could pull her from hardship, she quickly jumps at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaaaay so, this chapter doesn't include Geralt at all, so if you want to skip, scroll down to the end of the chapter and I've included the main points in the chapter notes there.

It began snowing on Winterfylleth and didn’t stop for _months._

Once-green lands turned pure white and the kingdom of Redania fell into economic turmoil. They depended on their normally-plentiful crops, but the snow had smothered out almost every grain field in the kingdom.

The winter was especially hard on Eve. Work was hard to find, and on top of that, her horse caught pneumonia from the cold, damp conditions.

Maze fell near the edge of a frozen lake and never stood back up again. She remained at his side, petting him down his nose as he heaved his last breaths. Guilty tears didn’t reach the surface until the heaving stopped completely. She should have let him retire the summer before this– hell, _two_ summers ago. Her selfishness led to an avoidable death, while he could have been tucked away in a warm stable somewhere, belly full of cornmeal.

She felt as numb as her fingers, which were starting to turn stiff. Still, though, she remained at his side, not wanting him to be eaten by the wolves just yet. He deserved an hour of peace, of rest. That was the least she could do for him.

Eventually, though, she had to move– to survive– like she always had. She gathered her things, hauling the saddle over her shoulder, and continued trekking towards Crinfrid.

Home to the infamous Reavers, Crinfrid was a region also known for its obscene amount of criminal activity. She kept this knowledge in mind when navigating the city-streets, wary of _everyone_ around her.

“I can give ye’…” the bald man scratched at his beard, observing the saddle. “50 crowns.”

Eve blinked slowly at the man, in disbelief. “I paid 200 for this.”

“I’m givin’ ye’ a deal, sweetheart. Most people ‘round here wouldn’t pay more than 30 crowns in times like these.” She felt his eyes wander downward to her chest, landing on the necklace that hung against it. There was a glint of intrigue within his dark orbs.

She yanked the Lynx Medallion from around her neck and set it on the table between them. It was a memento of her time at the School of the Cat, but so was Maze, yet his body was likely being torn apart by wolves at this very moment. She didn’t have the energy to waste on sadness for a necklace. “150 crowns for the saddle and the medallion.”

The main raised his brows and tested the medallion’s weight in his palm. “Is this a real Witcher Medallion?”

She nodded her head. “Pure silver.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Eve used part of the money earned during that unfair trade to book a room at the Crinfrid Inn. Her plan going forward was to pick up any work she could in town– no paid job was too low for her, including shoveling horse shit at the local stable. It was temporary, after all, until she could raise enough funds to purchase another horse. Then, she would be free to keep moving and taking contracts from those who could _actually_ afford to pay her.

After nibbling on a small meal in the Inn’s main hall, Eve disappeared into her room for the night. It was the first time she’d laid her head on an actual pillow in nearly three weeks.

***

_“Everly… I’m hot…” Leofrick reached for his older sister, who slept beside him under their father’s oversized cloak._

_She woke at his touch, flipping over to look at her younger brother. Despite how cold it was out in these woods, his forehead was coated with a layer of sweat. She furrowed her brows and pulled the cloak off of him. “Do you want me to remove your tunic?” she asked softly._

_“I… No, I’m cold now.” His voice was weak, trembling. His body shivered. “So cold… Everly, it’s so cold… Everly…”_

_“… I don’t want to die, Everly, please don’t let me die…”_

Eve was awakened by her own sob, which she cut off as soon as she realized the noise was coming from her own mouth. She didn’t allow herself to fall asleep again that night, her thoughts plagued with the _first_ time someone had died in the cold on her watch.

***

When winter turned to spring, she was finally able to stop paying for shelter and moved near the outskirts of town to camp. After all, it was difficult to save up for a new horse when she had to keep shelling out money for housing. She did not, however, cut down on her spending of alcohol.

Eve savored the first sip, overheated from hours of work in the grain fields. Concerned with only her mug of ale, she listened vaguely as others spoke to each other around her. She knew many of them from her work, but she wasn’t very friendly with any of them– didn’t care to be.

A group of Reavers burst through the door as they always did– with a sense of pride in their step as if they owned the entire town. After boisterously demanding drinks from the barkeep, they made their way to a nearby table and loudly conversed with one another.

“So, Boholt, what do you think?”

Boholt, a burly man with dark, curly hair, seemed annoyed. “You already know my answer.” There was a silence, before he sighed heavily and spoke again. “Of _course_ we’re gonna fuckin’ go. We are _fuckin_ Reavers! We were bred for this!”

There was a clamor of cheering and agreeance that erupted from their table. Another member spoke up. “What’s the reward?”

“Not only the dragon’s hoard of treasure, _but_ whichever team defeats the beast receives the title of lord over one of Niedamir’s new vassal states.”

His answer stirred up a feeling inside of Eve that had laid dormant for a long while. Excitement. The prospect of a slaying, and a vast reward. His answer also clearly aroused his comrades, who gasped at the thought of such reward.

“So, when do we leave?”

“At sunrise we will head for Caingorn. There, we will meet with the other teams and prepare to face the dragon. So, I’d suggest you drink up and find a whore to spend the night with! It may be the last pussy you ever touch!” They obnoxiously cheered once more, before dispersing into smaller groups around the tavern.

After a few moments of contemplation, Eve finished off her beer and stood, approaching Boholt, who was feasting on a small, cooked hen. His comrades, two of them, sat at his table, one holding onto a woman in his lap and the others watching with a large, creepy grin. She stopped, standing near him, and waited for him to acknowledge her existence.

He finished chewing, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and then turned to look up at her. His gaze trailed from her head to her feet, clearly noting that she wasn’t dressed like a paid whore.

“I want you to take me with you to Caingorn,” she stated firmly, not looking at the two other men who now also had their eyes on her. She heard them laugh, though Boholt only raised his brows with an amused smile. Before he could get out a response that she would likely detest, she slammed her coin purse on the table. It was all she had saved up, not enough for a horse, but certainly enough to convince this mercenary that she was serious. Boholt put his hand out to stop his friends from laughing.

“400 crown for you to take me with you,” she repeated, keeping her clutch tight on the purse until she got his word.

“We don’t need any more help.” He answered simply.

“Did I _say_ I wanted to help? I just need a ride.”

Boholt was clearly amused, or thought she was insane, but coin was his language, and she was speaking it fluently. “Fine. We depart at sunrise,” he pulled the purse from her hands and tucked it away. “Don’t be late, sweetheart.”

***

Caingorn wasn’t that far, but it seemed like a torturously long trip when she had to listen to constant bickering the whole time. Eve shifted uncomfortably, pulling a bag of unknown items out from underneath her. She was squished in the back of their wagon with the rest of their goods, while everyone else trailed on horseback.

“You sure you don’t want to ride me, lass?” Boholt asked, smirk on his face. The Reavers that were close enough to hear burst into laughter. “Sorry– Ride _with_ me, I meant.”

Eve didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a response, simply shifting onto her side to face away from him.

Hours passed spent in silence, on her part at least. The same couldn’t be said for the men she traveled with, who still had yet to stop bickering. Relief filled her when the city came into view.

Since she still needed a team to join, she didn’t want to be seen with the Reavers– individuals who were not liked by the general population. So, without hesitation, she jumped off the moving wagon and continued travelling on foot. Boholt and the rest of them gave her a confused look as they passed, but they didn’t care enough speak up.

Boholt had said the teams were meeting in a tavern at the base of the Caingorn mountains, so that’s where she headed, avoiding interactions that may slow her down in the meantime.

***

She underestimated how far of a trek it would be on foot– and regretted jumping off of the Reaver wagon so soon. By the time she made it to the tavern, the sun had fallen from the sky and the moon had taken its place. She worried that by now, the teams may have run off to bed.

This fear was quickly erased, as upon entrance, the tavern was surprisingly boisterous. The Reavers, of course, were there and the loudest of them all, but they were not the only ones by a long shot.

Another group drew her attention immediately. A band of dwarves were feasting together just adjacent of the Reavers–loudly at that. She assumed this must be one of the other teams, and since it was the first she spotted, it would be the first she’d ask to join.

She started towards them, but before she could even finish three strides, her attentions were pulled elsewhere.

_“Everly Suttone!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna skip to the next chapter? Here's a summary of this one:  
>  \- Eve is traveling again, winter hits, Maze gets pneumonia and dies :(  
>  \- She goes to the nearest town of Crinfrid and works odd jobs, trying to save up for another horse  
>  \- Winter ends, she's saved up a little bit, but she hears some Reavers talking about a quest to slay a dragon for a big fat reward, then uses the money she's saved up to hitch a ride with them to Caingorn  
>  \- They get to the city, she walks on her own to the tavern where all the teams are meeting (like in episode 6 of the Netflix series), and plans to ask one of the teams to let her join.


	4. Two's Company, Three's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve runs into Geralt and his Bard once more, and ends up joining their squad on the hunt to slay a dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of the "Rare Species" episode of the Netflix series, though there will be some obvious changes (like the fact that Geralt wont know that Yennefer is a part of the hunt until next chapter hehe)
> 
> ALSO It took everything inside of me not to get ahead of myself and write smut in this chapter, but I want to build TENSION so I just couldn't do it ;_;

_“Everly Suttone!”_

The sing-song voice was oddly familiar, but she wasn’t able to place it until she turned into its direction. Sitting at a table to her left, Jaskier gazed up at her with mouth agape and eyes wide with excited shock.

To his right, Geralt sat with his head craned sideways to look at her, a single eyebrow curved upward in surprise. Three other strangers sat in front of them, looking at her with confusion.

She blinked rapidly, trying to recover from the unexpected turn of events, but she couldn’t think of a way to respond. Jaskier, as usual, filled the uncomfortable silence.

“Are you here to slay a dragon, too?” He had clearly been drinking, as they all had– their mugs and plates were half-empty.

She hesitated, glancing over at the dwarven table, before she took a step closer to the table she now addressed. “That was the plan.”

“Which team do you represent?” The older man that sat across from Geralt spoke up.

Eve cleared her throat, glancing at the other tables, before she returned her gaze to the man. “Myself.”

The man scrunched his brow in skepticism, though he didn’t say whatever he was thinking.

“Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense–“ Jaskier shimmied across the bench, making room for her between himself and Geralt. “She’s with us– right, Geralt?”

Eve didn’t move, despite the fact that Jaskier was patting the empty spot on the bench for her. She focused instead on Geralt, who immediately tore his eyes away from her and looked to the man who sat across from him for permission.

“Any friend of Geralt’s is a friend of mine,” Borch was more cordial now, as he stood and reached to shake Eve’s hand. “Everly, I’m Borch Three Jackdaws…” after shaking her hand, he gestured to the women who had stood up at his side almost robotically. “These are my companions, Téa and Véa.”

“Pleasure,” Eve nodded towards them in greeting, an awkward smile pressed onto her lips. “-And, please, call me Eve.” She removed her sword from her back before climbing onto the bench between Jaskier and Geralt. As she sat, she felt Jaskier nudge her excitedly, but she ignored him, focusing instead on Borch who began speaking.

“Eve,” he politely addressed her how she requested him to, “What’s _your_ story?”

She hesitated in answering, confused as to what exactly he was asking. Obviously, not her whole life story. “Pardon?”

“Oh– I apologize. My age has made me vague, apparently,” he chuckled. “I meant, what brought you here?”

“Ah…” she nodded her head, understanding now. “The same as everyone else, I suppose. The reward.”

Borch narrowed his eyes slightly, though his intrigued smile did not fade. The answer did not seem to satisfy him. He glanced to Geralt, as if there was something they knew that she did not. “Geralt believes that there is no treasure worth dying for. Do you agree?”

Geralt shifted, turning his head so that he could place his eyes on her to hear her response. She glanced at him briefly, eyes then returning to Borch. “I don’t know enough to say if his philosophy is true or false,” she began, “but I think perspective is important. For some, it’s driven by greed, and for others it might be driven by the need to survive.” Her words imply something deeper. 

Borch responded with another question, “Which of those is your perspective?”

She felt Geralt’s eyes on her again. “Maybe a little bit of both,” she smiled slightly, answering with a hint of humor instead of being fully forthright about why she came all this way.

Borch chuckled, leaning back in his seat. Geralt turned his head forward again, a knowing smirk on his face. 

“Well, regardless of your motives, I take it that you know how to wield that sword you’ve been carrying around.” Borch gestured to the weapon that leaned against the wall behind her.

She nodded, and he smiled in response. “Good. Well,” Borch slapped his hands together and stood up with a sigh. Téa and Véa followed suit. “As much as I’d like to stay up and get to know you a little better, It’s quite late. I’m a bit too old to not get proper rest. We can continue these talks in the morning.” He bowed slightly, before slipping off into one of the many rooms in the Inn. Téa and Véa entered just behind him.

“Did they just–“ Jaskier turned his head from the room back to Geralt and Eve, eyes wide with shock.

“Yes, they did.” Geralt chuckled, bringing the mug to his lips again.

Jaskier twisted his neck again to look at the now-closed door, mouth still agape. Eve watched him, amused, but her attention was drawn back towards Geralt, who slid his plate of food towards her. “Hungry?” he asked, side-eyeing her.

“Yes,” she answered simply, not mentioning that she was practically starving– though she didn’t have to. Her actions spoke for her. She dug into the leftovers, gnawing away animalistically at a large, half-eaten turkey leg, moaning at the taste of it. Geralt and Jaskier both watched her, amused–and impressed–as she stuffed her mouth with potatoes before she even swallowed the chunks of turkey.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman with that much in her mouth,” Jaskier commented with a scoff.

“Yeah, I _bet_ you haven’t,” she responded, though it was difficult to understand as her voice was muffled by chunks of food. Geralt chuckled.

“Some things never change,” Jaskier sighed and shook his head. “Although, other things _do_ change. Everly, you’ve lost quite a bit of weight.”

Eve shot him a dirty look, snatching the mug from in front of him and using a swig of alcohol to wash down the mouth-full of food. “Still haven’t learned how to talk to a lady, hm?”

“I didn’t realize I was talking to one,” Jaskier responded, watching with a look of disgust as she aggressively tore off another strip of turkey meat.

At this, she couldn’t help but chuckle, covering her mouth with her hand so she didn’t spit chunks of food all over the table. She continued to eat, while Jaskier left the table briefly to order another mug of ale for himself.

In his absence, Geralt turned on the bench so that he could face her without having to awkwardly twist his head 90 degrees. His tone was more serious now.

“What’s going on with you?” his question made her slow in chewing, taking her time to swallow as if she were going to avoid answering the question.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hm,” Geralt hummed lowly, clearly annoyed that she’d made him wait that long for an answer that revealed absolutely nothing. “Well, to start, you stink of Reaver– among… _other things._ Yet your lack of hygiene is not as concerning as the fact that you’re borderline emaciated. You also showed up here with no plan–making your desperation to make money painfully obvious. You’re also no longer wearing that little medallion. What happened, did people start to catch onto the fact that you’re not a Witcher?”

“Is mocking me your way of caring?” she responded, suddenly losing her appetite. She leaned back, turning her head to face him with an expression of annoyance.

“Is deflection your way of admitting that I’m right?” he mirrored her expression condescendingly.

She rolled her eyes, but before she could answer, Jaskier had returned with his drink. Geralt twisted back to his original position and idly brought the tankard to his lips.

Eve felt insecure as her mind lingered on Geralt’s words. She knew she’d lost weight, based on the way her clothes fit, but she wasn’t aware that she was ‘ _borderline emaciated’._ He was exaggerating, of course, but only slightly– her body really wasn’t as healthy as it once was. Jaskier disrupted her thoughts with his voice.

“So, Everly, are you going to be staying with us tonight?”

 _“No,”_ she answered immediately. Geralt looked at Jaskier with annoyed disbelief.

Jaskier recovered quickly. “Oh, get your minds out of the gutter. The Innkeeper just told me there were no more available rooms. _”_

“Then I guess I am,” she responded, taking Jaskier up on his offer without even asking how Geralt felt about it.

“Lovely,” Jaskier grinned, taking a sip of his ale.

“Which room, by the way?” she inquired, though her tone implied mischief.

“That one,” he pointed to the door closest to the bar.

“Great,” with palms flat on the table, she pushed herself to stand. “I ought to turn in and bathe– I get the feeling I might smell.” She turned towards Geralt when she moved to step out of the bench, purposely bumping her knee into his side. He grunted, but hardly moved in reaction. She collected her sword, swung it over her shoulder, and walked away from their table towards the bar.

“She might need some help filling the bath…” Jaskier moved to stand, but Geralt immediately reached over and yanked him back down by his tunic.

“Can we have some hot water in this room?” Eve asked the Innkeeper, gesturing towards the room that Jaskier had pointed out earlier. The man nodded in response and disappeared into a back room.

He returned, lugging a large vat of recently-boiling water, and Eve quickly moved to open the room door for him. Steam filled the air above the large, wooden tub as the man dumped the hot water into its lukewarm counterpart. She thanked him briefly, then shut the door behind him once he exited.

The tub was separated from the rest of the room by a wooden, foldable divider. Though, if one really tried, it wouldn’t be difficult to peak through the bends of the divider. She observed the rest of the room, spotting only two beds and noting that someone would end up sleeping on the floor–likely her. A problem for a later time.

Behind the tub was a tall vanity, propped up by two adjacent walls. She stood in front of it, tilting her head at her reflection. She could see now, what he meant by ‘ _borderline emaciated.’_ Her sword hit the floor with a thud, followed by the removal of the rest of her clothes, which she left in a pile on the floor. Her eyes lingered on the reflection of her own body for just a moment longer before she turned and stepped into the circular tub. Goosebumps immediately spread across her skin at the sudden change of temperature. With an exhale, she relaxed fully down into the water, submerging her head for a few seconds and resurfacing with an inhale. She began detangling her hair with her fingers, weaving her mid-length locks into a loose braid that clung to her chest when she let it go.

The sound of the door creaking open sent her sinking down into the water, enough to at least submerge her breasts. She peered through the blinds of the divider, seeing Geralt, followed by Jaskier. Both pairs of eyes were pointed in the direction of the tub, though she knew they couldn’t see anything through the divider.

“No need to stir, It’s just us,” Jaskier called out when he heard the water moving, shutting the door behind him. Geralt moved silently to his bed, which was closest to the divider, and sat down with his back facing her. He began removing his shoes. She could see Jaskier on the other bed, doing the same.

“I may fall asleep before you get out, but I’ll leave plenty of space for you in my bed,” Jaskier called out again, loudly, as if she couldn’t hear him if he spoke at a normal volume. Geralt gave a frustrated sigh in response.

“The floor seems much more appealing,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

“Suit yourself,” he responded. The bed creaked obnoxiously until he found a comfortable position facing the wall.

Eve’s eyes drifted into closer focus, to see Geralt removing his shirt. Thick scars covered the large area of his back, tainting an otherwise perfectly-sculpted body. Muscles all over him flexed as he twisted and fell back against his pillow. Quickly, she looked away, unsure if he could sense her gaze. A tentative second glance assured that his eyes were closed in an attempt to fall asleep, so she continued to admire him.

His chest was large and muscular, covered in hair, and it rose and fell with every slow breath that he took. Her eyes drifted lower, following the trail of hair across his abdomen, all the way down to his–

She tore her eyes away, thoughts too out of control for her liking, and sat still in the tub for a few more minutes. When she finally stood up, beads of water trickled off of her and down into the tub below, the only sound in the room, aside from Jaskier’s snoring. After wringing out her wet hair, she leapt gracefully from the tub and bent over to collect her clothes. However, when she stood back up, she caught a pair of eyes locked onto her backside from the mirror’s reflection.

Geralt clearly hadn’t realized that he’d been caught because his eyes were still glued to her backside– not the reflection. Bicep naturally flexed, he laid with one arm tucked behind his head to assist in the uncomfortable craning of his neck to watch her. A part of her wanted to tease him for it, but in order to avoid waking Jaskier, she decided to act as if she didn’t notice.

She dropped the pile on top of the chiffonier, leaving only her shirt in her hands. Purposely, she turned towards him to allow a full-frontal view, fiddling with the top as if she couldn’t find where to put her head. Though she kept her eyes on her shirt, she could still feel his gaze on her. A few seconds passed before the game was over, and she decided to pull the shirt over her head, followed quickly by her trousers.

When she moved fully around the divider, she noticed that his eyes were clamped shut again, and his arm was back down by his side, as if he were asleep the whole time. She knew better, but at least got a better view of him from this new angle while his eyes were closed. After a brief moment of lustful staring, she stepped towards him, jabbing him in the shoulder.

His eyes fluttered open, yellow hues glowing intently up at her. He didn’t say a word, just waited to see what she had to say.

“Can I at least have one of those blankets?” she asked softly, as not to wake Jaskier from his apparently very heavy sleep.

Geralt released a breath he’d been holding, before he twisted and tugged a blanket out from underneath him.

“Thanks,” she whispered, dropping to the floor between the two beds and curling up in the blanket that held both residual warmth, and his scent within it.

A tingling between her thighs demanded attention, her rampant thoughts not helping the situation. If she were alone, she’d be touching herself to soothe the ache, but she wasn’t, so nothing could be done to satiate her desire. Instead, she was forced to clamp her eyes shut and try to fall asleep.


	5. Devoured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey up the mountain begins, and Geralt is surprised to see that Yennefer has joined the fleet. During the first night of camping, Eve isolates herself after talk of Nilfgaard stirs up unwanted feelings. Geralt follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wHy iS iT SPiCeY

_“_ Good _morning,_ beautiful _,”_ Eve’s eyes snapped open to see Jaskier standing above her, singing his greeting downwards with a large grin.

She groaned and sat up, meeting eyes with Geralt, who stood in the center of the room, nearly done buttoning up his shirt. He seemed amused by her appearance, but one glance in the vanity had her quickly brushing down her bed– well, _floor_ head– with her fingers.

“Not a word,” Eve warned, climbing to her feet and tossing the thin blanket she slept with onto Geralt’s unmade bed.

“I didn’t,” he mused, stepping aside as she barreled towards him to retrieve the rest of her things from the chiffonier.

***

“Your man might have mentioned that the road was too narrow for horses in his initial sales pitch,” Jaskier mumbled as Borch and his companions got far enough ahead of them to be unaware of his complaint.

“Welcome to the world, Jaskier,” Geralt responded dryly. Eve paid little attention to them, observing instead the groups of people all around who prepared to journey with them.

“ _Damn it to Korath!”_ This voice, however, garnered her attention. Her head snapped into the direction of a dwarf who stood next to his mule, anger written all over his features. Jaskier stopped completely in his tracks, though she continued to follow behind Geralt while still listening in.

“What’s got your goat?” Jaskier furrowed his brows down at the little man.

“Someone’s stolen ma’ pack. Probably those _fuckin’_ Reavers!” his voice was explosive, considering his stature. Eve widened her eyes, meeting eyes with Geralt briefly as they stopped beside his horse. She scratched beneath the mare’s chin in greeting as Geralt tucked a few items away into her saddle bag, watching warily to see if a fight broke out. Jaskier was clearly also wary of this, as he quickly scurried out from between the two groups of men.

“Aye well, three days’ journey and only one route to the top. Leaves plenty of time for me to _piss in his gruel!”_ The dwarf shouted back towards the Reavers as he walked passed the trio, but he stopped suddenly when he made eye contact with Geralt, then Eve.

“Name’s Yarpen Zigrin,” he spoke again, though his tone now was much quieter and cordial. He threw out his small hand to shake, and Geralt moved to accept his greeting.

“Geralt of Rivia,” he nodded, before returning to his horse’s side.

“And _my_ name is Julian Alfred Pankratz–“ Jaskier started, but was swiftly cut off by Yarpen.

“Aye. I know.” He threw his hand up at the Bard, before directing his attention towards Eve. “And you?”

“Eve,” she answered simply, giving a nod since she was a bit too far to shake his hand. He nodded back in greeting.

As the man and his fleet of dwarves began to walk away, he spoke up a final time. “You’ll fetch a goodly amount for that mare if you sell now!” Geralt simply shot them a look as they trekked on.

“Charming how everyone wants to get their hands on a Roach these days, isn’t it?” Jaskier inquired rhetorically, stepping towards them.

“He means we won’t make it out alive,” Geralt responded, annoyed as he typically was when addressing him.

“–Wait, what? No one mentioned anything about impending death,” Jaskier expressed breathlessly, looking back and forth between the pair. In response, Eve stepped towards him and shoved his lute case into his arms.

“You’ll die sooner if you don’t take this damned lute from my back,” Eve shoved the instrumental case into Jaskier’s chest with unnecessary force. “Is it really a necessity?”

“With ease, we are precious cargo,” he cradled the case in his arms, stroking it as if it were a common barnyard cat. “Who else is going to come up with a ballad of this adventure? _You? Geralt? A–… A psychotic witch…?”_ Jaskier trailed off, staring into the space behind them. Both Eve and Geralt turned to see what he was looking at.

“How is it that I’ve walked this earth for decades without coming across a witcher,” a woman dressed in layers of expensive clothing approached them with grace, but she addressed Geralt alone. “–and then the _first_ one I meet, I can’t get rid of?”

Geralt’s reaction was odd and out of character– as he seemed genuinely shocked by her sudden appearance. Eve gave the woman a once-over, noting that her hair was perfectly styled in dark curls as if she’d just come from a royal gathering. She was strikingly beautiful, but her large, purple irises gave away that her beauty was sculpted with purpose– unnaturally so. She was a sorceress.

“I’d say something strange was afoot, but then again, witchers are bound to bump into monsters eventually,” Jaskier taunted in response. His insults were unlike the playful ones he’d occasionally throw at Eve– they were meant to hurt.

The woman gave a dry chuckle, whipping her head to the side to finally acknowledge both Jaskier, and Eve’s, existence. “Jaskier.”

“Yennefer.”

When Yennefer’s eyes met Eve’s, her snarky grin faded, but she chose to not acknowledge her presence– directing her eyes back to Jaskier instead. “The crows feet are new.”

“Yeah, well, your jokes are–… old.” He faltered, and turned to stomp away, leaving Eve to stand between the couple that clearly knew each other well.

There was an awkward pause, and Eve got the sense that she was not a welcomed presence by this woman, so she cleared her throat and followed after Jaskier and the others.

Jaskier sat on a log, idly kicking at the dirt beneath his boots. He glanced over at Eve as she sat down beside him.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” he stated, looking down at the dirt.

“Pardon?”

He lifted his head and gestured back to the pair that spoke to one another out of earshot. “The sexy, yet _very_ scary sorceress. Their relationship… it’s a long story…”

“Jaskier–“

“… There was a djinn in a bottle, 3 wishes, a tumor the size of a cabbage, the collapse of an entire castle, a love-struck elf– Oh! And all of it happened in Rinde, where we met _you_ , actually! Small world–”

“ ** _Jaskier_** ,” she interrupted again, louder now. He raised his brows at her, mouth agape. “I didn’t ask.” She muttered, glancing back over to see that Yennefer was now approaching the rest of the group. They met eyes, briefly, as she passed them to meet up with one of the travelers– a tall, scrawny man, dressed head to toe in shiny armor.

“Shall we go, my Lord?” she asked innocently, portraying a very different façade than before.

The knight nodded and rose to his feet– metal clanking together as he began walking the trail. The whole lot of adventurers followed behind, first the Reavers, then the dwarves, Borch and his escort, Geralt and Jaskier, then Eve trekking by herself at the end of the line.

“It’s so kind of you to share the spoils of this expedition with an old man such as Borch. You’re like two fiercely loyal, uh, friends. I wanna say friends. Relatives? Contract security?” Jaskier jabbered away while most of everyone else remained focused on their surroundings.

“To hunt with him is an honor unsullied by payment,” the sound of Téa’s voice grabbed Eve’s attention, as it was the first word she’d heard from either one of the Zerrikanian warriors.

“But– _why?”_

“He is the most beautiful.” Véa chimed in, glancing back at the poet with a smirk.

Though they were unaware of it, Geralt and Eve reacted simultaneously with an amused grin.

***

“Ladies, you look famished. Allow me to wander aimlessly into this thicket and retrieve for you, uh… a tasty afternoon treat,” Jaskier spoke loudly enough for the whole group to hear, and although Geralt reacted poorly to the bard’s interruption– everyone else seemed grateful for the break– Eve, included. She immediately found a tree to lean against, while some others kneeled right where they stood.

Jaskier kept on with his mumbling, as if his brain were not capable of keeping his thoughts to himself– but he grabbed everyone’s attention once more. “There’s something back here.” A few members of the fleet moved behind Geralt, curious, while others (like Eve) remained resting, but watching from afar.

“Aw! Aren’t you just the cutest, most… terrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life… Right– Run away! Run away!” The tall grass rustled beneath Jaskier’s heavy strides as he ran from the thicket in fear. Eve stood fully to see the creature that now stood much taller than the poet. Not quite the cute creature that it must have seemed to be while huddled on the ground.

“Geralt– It’s one of your… _friends_ again.” He pointed to the creature from around Geralt’s shoulder, as he was now cowering behind the witcher. 

“What in the name of Bloemenmagde is _that?”_ Yarpen– and many others– cautiously drew their weapons. Geralt and Eve– who knew violence was unnecessary– did not.

“It’s an hirikka. It’s probably starving. Sheathe your weapons–“

“ _For kingdom and glory!”_ the knight charged at the emaciated beast with his weapon drawn and slashed the defenseless hirikka to death, grunting with each swing of his sword. The creature unleashed a high-pitched bleating sound at the first cut, but it was soon drowned out when its head came rolling towards Geralt on the ground.

“ _Sir Eyck!”_ Yennefer ran to her escort, feigning concern and embracing him in all of his bloody glory. “You could have been killed!”

“If we’d fed it, it would’ve gone away.” Geralt led the charge in turning away from the scene, followed by the rest of the onlookers.

“That knight may be a fuckin’ dumbbell, but I’ll be damned, the dragon won’t stand a chance.” Yarpen stated confidently, while a few of his companions chuckled along with him.

As the sun neared the horizon, the fleet decided it was best to set up camp while there was still a bit of daylight left. Some brought only bedrolls to sleep on, while others (Yennefer) manifested a luxurious canopy tent to stay in for the night. While unrolling her bed, Eve grumbled enviously to herself about how easy the sorceress’s life must be– to be able to manifest things with the snap of her finger. How convenient it would have been months ago if she knew how to cast a spell to make a horse appear from thin air.

Borch dropped a final cluster of twigs into a small fire pit at the center of the camp. The flames danced higher, crackling with glee. Eyck began roasting a piece of flesh from his kill, tearing a chunk from it once it was seared to his liking. Jaskier loudly made his disgust known.

“Um… I’m not sure I’d eat that, good sir,” Borch sat on a log that circled the campfire, also wielding an expression of disgust.

“Knights _never_ waste a kill,” Eyck responded, mouth full of monster. “It’s precisely why I’ll make a great lord to Niedamir’s vassal state. A great knight must lead by example. For–“

“ _Kingdom and glory. We know._ ” Eve finished his sentence, entering the circle and finding a place to sit between Téa and Yarpen. Laughter filled the air.

“My subjects will be the luckiest serfs in all the lands,” Eyck pressed on, unphased, and directed his gaze towards the dark-haired sorceress. “Especially with the beautiful Yennefer as my mage.”

“I cannot _wait_ to serve you, My Lord.”

“How would you like to serve me tonight… Witch?” Boholt chimed in, clearly pleased, though no one else seemed to find his comment amusing.

“Careful, Boholt,” Geralt warned, yellow eyes glowing.

“So, the Witcher wants to play knight, too, hmm?”

“No. She’s plenty able of murdering you herself,” he responded, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s so amusin’, you overgrown _cock hair?”_ Yarpen barked up at the Reaver, a challenge.

Boholt paused, still chuckling to himself. “I’m just wondering who I will kill first. The monster… or the monster hunter.”

Geralt didn’t seem to be bothered by his weak threat and didn’t give him a second glance as the Reaver exited the circle. A loud gurgling sound diverted the eyes of the crowd towards Sir Eyck.

“Oh, dear…” he stood, writhing. “Um… I’m afraid I must take my leave. Lady Yennefer, may I escort you to your tent?”

She straightened her posture, deceptive eyes directed up at the knight. “Will you be joining me?”

“Uh… My Lady, I would…” another gurgle within his gut, “… never degrade your honor in such a way.”

“I hate to break it to you, but that ship has sailed, wrecked _and_ sunk to the bottom of the ocean,” Jaskier muttered, eliciting chuckles from the circle– except for Geralt, who slapped Jaskier on the arm. “Ow.”

“Oh… I need a shit.” Eyck could not wait for a response from the sorceress, and disappeared quickly into the woods beyond the camp, cheered on by laughter from mostly everyone.

“So, shall we tell the poor bastard that he’s vying for a vassal state that won’t exist in a decade?” Yarpen asked, gnawing into the cooked thigh of a squirrel.

“States rise and fall like the tide. Nothing new.” Geralt responded.

“ _This_ is fucking new! The rightful son of Nilfgaard has returned, burnin’ through the south.”

Eve’s body stiffened, uncomfortable with just the _word ‘_ Nilfgaard’. She clenched her jaw, staring down into the low flames of the fire.

“With Fringilla as his mage. Nilfgaard’s a _joke_ ,” Yennefer scoffed–laughed, even. Eve glared at her, anger constricting her breath. Her words were more offensive than she realized, but Eve was not about to explain to the witch how she was wrong– but she also couldn’t sit there and listen to this discourse any longer. 

So, instead, she abruptly stood and exited the circle, snatching the shared canteens of water from the lips of one of the dwarves. “I’ll refill this,” she muttered, not giving anyone a second glance, despite the feeling of eyes all over her back.

“I saw it with my own eyes down in Ebbing. Those zealot freaks are inching closer by the day. Won’t be long till they try and take Sodden. Next, it’ll be Temeria. Redania. Cintra–“

“No,” Jaskier interjected, his tone somber for once. “Queen Calanthe would die before letting them take what’s hers.”

***

Eve had experience in survival within mountainous regions and knew that if she walked parallel to the mountainside long enough, she’d cross a stream or maybe even a pond. This was a mountain rich with vegetation, which meant there were plenty of water sources nearby. It didn’t take long before she reached a small stream, that began higher up on a cliff up the mountain. She climbed higher up the mountainside to reach the rocks and held the jar below a trickling stream that fell from a large, black stone overhead. The bottle, which was already half-full, didn’t take long to fill. The overflow followed the curves of her forearm and snuck through the sleeve of her shirt, gliding down her right side. The cool sensation was a welcomed one– as her body had become sticky with the sweat of heat and travel.

She lowered the bottle away from the flow of water and looked down the mountainside, following the stream with her eyes until she found what she was looking for– a pool of water between the crevices of a lower cliff. Corking off the bottle first, she then carefully made her way down the slope, slipping occasionally on wet leaves and mud. The moon, which was now a quarter of the way into the sky, illuminated the dark stones and reflected off small ripples within the pool. Trees surrounded the area but could not grow close enough to the cliff to conceal it from the light– which made for a breathtaking view of the sky and practically half of the continent below her.

She took a moment just to observe– to listen to the rustling of the trees in the breeze, to gaze at the stars above, and to tilt her head up towards the full moon. Leofrick loved to stargaze. He knew the names of each and every constellation and would teach them to her any time they were outdoors at night. She couldn’t name a single one now if she tried.

Her eyes returned to the pool, and she idly began removing her clothes– starting with the scabbard that was strapped around her waist. She left her weapon and clothing atop a large stone and quickly stepped into the pool, falling into the water until the surface reached her naval. The temperature change was a shock, but she adapted quickly, resting her back against the edge.

Her thoughts were plagued since the first utterance of the word ‘Nilfgaard’ from Yarpen’s mouth. Visuals of her most traumatic memories flashed through her mind– images of her parent’s mutilated bodies, of Leofrick’s cold, blue corpse. She had stepped away to avoid unwanted emotional outbursts, but as she now sat in solitude, her tears of anger were granted liberation. 

To combat the oncoming anxiety attack, she sucked in a breath and fully submerged herself. Her body was forced to focus on holding her breath, instead of nearing hyperventilation. She no longer heard the screams of her parents– only the sound of her heartbeat beneath the surface of the water.

Resurfacing with a desperate gasp for air, she was made new, as if the outburst had never occurred.

“ _Bathing again_?”

Eve gasped again, in surprise this time, not from lack of oxygen. The water sloshed aggressively against the edges of the pool, a reaction to her sudden spinning around to see Geralt sitting on the rock next to her things. He played idly with the hilt of her sword, looking up from it to meet her gaze. She quickly dropped down into the water enough to hide her heaving chest.

“Spying again?” she shot back at him, crossing her arms to ensure her modesty in case the water wasn’t doing enough.

He ignored her accusation about his previous spying with ease, “I was under the impression that you were getting a refill for the camp, not… doing _this_.” He gestured with a nod of his head to the natural pool.

Eve wondered if he’d heard her quiet cries from before– gods, she hoped not. “How kind of you to be concerned,” she answered sarcastically.

“Not concerned,” he reached for the bottle and condescendingly held it out for her to see, purposely sloshing the water about. “– _Parched_ ,” he clarified, before gulping down a quarter of it.

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him as he drank, facing the moon with her back flat against the edge. He sighed and plugged the bottle, setting it down on the ground again. There was a long period of silence between them, where Eve’s eyes remained fixed on the moon and Geralt scanned the details of her side profile. Politely, he avoided roaming any lower than her clavicle, aware of her less-than-playful mood.

Geralt finally broke the silence, “You never answered any of my questions.”

“What questions?”

“At the Inn,” he clarified, his eyes still locked onto her despite her refusal to meet his gaze. “About what’s going on with you.”

She paused hesitantly, stalling. “Specifically…?”

“Your malnutrition.”

She rolled her eyes again, so hard that it gave her a headache. Her weight had dropped, yes, and rapidly, but she knew it wasn’t _that_ bad. The exaggerations were getting old, and fast.

“Are you sick?” he questioned again, since she hadn’t given an answer, figuring it meant she needed further clarification.

“ _No,”_ she finally whipped her head to look at him, anger causing her brow to scrunch together. “Am I sick of you, though? _Absolutely repulsed.”_

“Do you often purposely expose yourself to men that repulse you?”

Hesitations were gone, she was quick to respond now, a willing player in their constant game to best one another in wordplay. “I don’t recall inviting you to watch me bathe.”

“I’m not talking about _tonight_ ,” Geralt riposted. He watched her head fall back against the ground behind her, and saw the reflection of the moonlight on her teeth– finally, a smile, even if she was only laughing condescendingly at him.

“I commend your mind for running with such an imaginary narrative.”

“I assure you, nothing was left to the imagination. You made sure of that,” he knew his words were going to get him in trouble, but he seemed eager to take the punishment. As he inferred, her reaction was priceless. The sound of splashing filled the air as she flipped over in the water and clung onto the pool edge that was closest to him, her forearms pressing _hard_ against the ground. Her grey eyes were venomous, but Geralt, unintimidated, found the expression harmless.

“I wouldn’t have ‘ _exposed myself,’_ as you claim I did, just to sleep on the cold floor. Believe me, Geralt, if I wanted to fuck you– _**I would have**. _Ask Boholt if you don’t believe me.”

Amusement fell from his face faster than the water droplets from her hair. Eve’s mouth stretched into a mischievous grin. Her statement was a lie– the thought of touching Boholt _at all_ was repulsive–but knowing that Geralt had smelled Reaver on her as soon as she’d walked into the Inn made this an easy story to tell.

“Is that _jealousy_ I see?” she pushed herself up and out of the pool, standing before him and the moon without concealing anything. Being only a few feet in front of him, his view was much closer than in the Inn. “You really _are_ all brawn and no brains, huh? Of course I didn’t fuck _Boholt,_ you idiot, _”_ she spat the Reaver’s name like it was a bad taste in her mouth. “But you just proved there’s a lot more in your imagination than just what your yellow eyes have seen.”

He took her bold action and harsh words as an opportunity to toss aside his own gallantry, taking in every inch of her body and locking it away in his memory. He discovered new details at this distance, like the freckle on her diaphragm, just below her right breast. He didn’t tear his eyes away, especially as she moved dangerously close to him, stooping over to grab her shirt from the rock.

“I mean, you’re forgetting some _very_ important senses that are definitely left to the imagination. Like… sound…” she fiddled with the shirt, trying to find where to put her head through, still only a few inches between them. “ _Touch…”_ She pulled the white top over her head, and the fabric clung to her wet body in all the right places. Looking upwards as if she were in thought, she gathered her wet hair and pulled it from beneath the collar of the shirt. “… Or my personal favorite: **_Taste_** _–“_

Her arrogance was shattered immediately when he aggressively pulled her down to him. With one hand now curled into her wet hair, he hooked the other around her knee and yanked upwards so that she was forced to straddle him. A verbal protest wasn’t possible– his mouth was already on hers, his tongue was pressing conservatively against her fleshy lower lip, pleading for her to reciprocate.

He didn’t stop her when she began to slightly pull back– though it wasn’t a complete withdrawal. His eyes opened to meet her gaze as her parted lips danced against his. Eve released an exhale into his mouth as she finally reciprocated, wrapping her own hand around his angular, stubbly jaw.

Geralt, now the one in shock, recovered much faster than she had. He closed his eyes again and, with a growl, deepened the kiss, tongue melting against hers. Releasing her hair, he flattened his palm against her mid-back and pulled her in, closing the distance between their chests simply to feel the curve of her breasts against him. His free hand glided along her thigh until needy fingers found what they were looking for– a handful of her left cheek.

Naturally, she sucked in a breath and arched her back, which tore their lips apart. Immediately, he tilted his head down to work against her exposed throat, teeth and tongue dragging gently across her skin with each kiss. Her breaths became more and more shallow the lower his mouth fell. She let her head fall back completely when the hand that was on her back slid around and under her shirt. While kissing just beneath her collarbone, his fingers navigated her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple once before he fully, and roughly, groped it as a whole.

She sucked in a breath, digging her nails into the back of his neck– a kneejerk reaction. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he enjoyed it, palming at her breast again to elicit another response. He tore his mouth away from her chest and used his free hand to guide her head back down towards his for another kiss. But before their lips could meet again, the Bard’s familiar voice could be heard echoing through the woods.

“Geralt?! Are you out there?!”

Eve attempted to pull away immediately, but Geralt was very hesitant to let her go, clutching onto her ass and her chest like it was the last time he’d be able to. He released a growling sigh when she stood from his lap and immediately began getting dressed.

“ _Eeek!! –Oh_ , _gods– Oh. Oh, yep, we’re good. Just a twig. Not a snake.”_ Jaskier screeched and mumbled to himself, not visible to them yet due to the darkness of night. **“ _Geralt?!!”_** He yelled louder, but this time, since Eve was now fully dressed, he was quick to make his presence known.

“There you are, Geralt! I was beginning to worry. Did you find– Ah, you did. Good. Well, that’s a relief, I thought you were going to be devoured by wolves.”

 ** _Nope, just one wolf,_** she thought to herself.

Geralt and Eve both passed Jaskier without a word, headed back towards camp. He followed behind, as expected. “Oh dear, why are you all _wet_?”


End file.
